Heather Graham - Blood Red

They would undoubtedly think she was a jumpy freak. But better that than…

Determined, she walked over and closed the door to the bedroom. Then she did call the police, using the non-emergency number. A very polite officer took her information, assured her that she wasn’t an idiot and promised that a car would check the property throughout the night.

When she hung up, she felt almost smug. She got a can of Coke from the refrigerator and curled her legs beneath her on the sofa-bed to watch TV.

But as she sat there, the cold from her soda seemed to seep into her bones. She couldn’t help but replay the her fading memories of the strange scene in the fortune teller’s tent. Now, alone in the dark, the details seemed to be coming back.

She had the strangest feeling that the evil being in the crystal ball had been real.

And that a dozen police officers couldn’t stand against the soul—stealing danger that he presented.

She had seen him. Great. Now she would think he was stalking her.

He was still in shock himself. It was impossible for anyone to look so much like Katie, and yet…It was as if his fiancée had been cloned. Even her smile, the way she flushed slightly, the slight hike of her brow…all were simply Katie.

As he walk away from the B and B, he was all too aware the woman in question was probably still watching him from the window.

Then, to his surprise, he noticed that there was a light on over the door to the main house, and several lights still blazing inside.

He made a point of walking away, then doubling back. The curtain at the cottage had dropped. He was free and clear. He walked up the porch steps of the main house and tried the door. It was open.

“Hello?”

A long hall led back to a desk. He admired the main house as he walked in; it reminded him of the Cornstalk, another bed and breakfast, and one of the loveliest in New Orleans. A curved stairway led to the upper rooms, while the hall branched off toward several more. He knew that each one would be a little bit different. That was the beauty of such a place: nothing was cookie-cutter; every room would have something all its own.

“Hello!” a cheerful voice called from the end of the hall.

He walked on to the desk. A woman of about sixty, with shimmering silvery white hair, was sitting there. Papers were strewn before her, and a computer was on a table to her left.

“I saw the lights on,” Mark said.

“I suppose I should lock up and go to bed, but I’ve discovered that I love being an innkeeper,” she said. She had a great smile, dark eyes, and an aura of energy about her, even as she sat still. “I’m Lilly Martin. How do you do?”

“I’m Mark Davidson, and I’m great, thanks. I think your inn is wonderful. I was hoping you might have a cottage left.”

She cocked her head slightly. “You’re looking for a room at three AM?”

He laughed. “I have a room, but I just saw your place, and I think it’s enchanting.”

Lilly Martin flushed with pleasure. “Thank you so much. And I do have a cottage vacant. I’m not sure I’d feel right, though. I can’t just give you the room for free, but I can’t really charge you for a full night, either.”

“We could split the difference,” he suggested.

“Lovely. Sold,” Lilly said.

She turned toward the computer. “Let’s see. Mark Davidson. Address and phone, length of stay, and will this be on a credit card?”

He produced his driver’s license and credit card. As she looked at the information, he made a point of looking over her shoulder. The registrations for the night were up on the screen.

He scanned the screen quickly. The girls were obvious. Cottage five.

Lauren Crow, Heidi Weiss, Deanna???.

He leaned back, smiling

As she typed information into the computer, Lilly asked, “Just being nosy, Mark, but what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Oh! Have I read anything you’ve written?”

He hesitated. “Probably not. I mostly do sports articles for syndication,” he lied.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Hm. And here I thought you might be an underwear model.”

“What?”

She laughed. “Sorry. You look like those guys in the ads.”

“Uh, thanks. I think.”

“Or a ninja,” she added.

“A ninja?”

She laughed. “Silly of me. Okay. Maybe a cop. Or FBI.”

“Just a writer,” he said. “But thanks.” Ninja?

Within ten minutes, Lilly had him registered and he had a key to his cottage. He hesitated, though. “You really should lock up this late at night,” he told her.

“I know. My kids would be angry.”

“As well they should be.”

“But I filled another cottage tonight, didn’t?” she asked cheerfully.

He turned to her, catching her hands. “Yes, but it’s not safe, Lilly. Please, lock up much, much earlier, okay?”

She let out a soft sigh. “Yes, of course, you’re right.” She winked. “But don’t tell on me, okay? Anyway, it’s bedtime for both of us now. In the morning, coffee and croissants are served in the dining room, to your left there, or on the patio, by the pool.”

“Great. Thanks. I’ll go pick up things from my dreaded chain hotel,” he told her, grinning. “Then I’ll be back.”

After she accompanied him to the main door and watched him go, he heard her slide the bolt, and he was relieved. It worried him a bit to stay here; he hoped he wasn’t putting Lilly in danger.

But if he thought that woman looked like Katie, so would Stephan. And he knew that Stephan was here. He had followed the creature’s trail from Abruzzi to Cannes to Essex, then here to New Orleans. Mark was convinced that it was only a matter of time before Stephan saw the woman—if he hadn’t seen her already.

Because Stephan was definitely here. He could feel it.

Mark simply hadn’t expected that he would come across so many other vampires along the way. Tonight he could have sworn he had found Stephan at last, but he’d been wrong. Was he going to think that every tall, dark man he caught a glimpse of was Stephan?

It had still been a good night’s work. He couldn’t regret killing the vampire in the cemetery. He’d saved someone’s life, at least.

And yet…

The lust for vengeance was like a fire inside him. Complicated now.

Because it was as if Katie had come back to life.

She was sleeping…dreaming, Lauren thought.

She had to be.

She was there, at the bar. And he was there, too.

He said something, teasing her, as if they had been friends forever. No, lovers forever. She could smell something that teased her senses. Something that affected not just her flesh but her mind, awakening her sensuality from within, touching her most erotic zones.

Then he was touching her. Stroking her.

She awoke suddenly, the faint sound of a click in her ears. She realized that the television was still on; now it was an infomercial diet pills.

The dream weighed heavily on her, but she knew that a noise, something that wasn’t the TV, had awakened her.

The door. She had heard the door opening.

She leapt up, looking around. The bolt was undone, and she threw the door open, thinking only afterwards that it was a stupid thing to do.

But she was glad she had done it..

Deanna was outside, standing at the end of the pool, talking aloud as if she were carrying on a conversation with someone invisible, or maybe someone who had just left.

Lauren burst out after her friend, calling her name. “Deanna!”

Deanna didn’t move.

Lauren raced around in front of her, grabbing her shoulders and staring into her eyes. They were glazed. Deanna didn’t even see her.

“Hey!” She gave her friend a shake. Nothing. “Deanna!” A harder shake.